The Unpleasantries of Life
by barbieQUE
Summary: Waking up next to Draco Malfoy may seem like a fantastic surprise. Not to Hermione Granger. Until, he tells her she's in his top 5. [Please read and review]
1. Number One

--**Short memories, look here**--****

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Sucks, doesn't it. 

Title: The Unpleasantries of Life **-- I know unpleasantries or unpleasantry are not words. Read the story and you'll get the title -- **

Rating: R - 'cause it can be. 

Summary: You may think waking up next to Draco Malfoy is a fantastic surprise. It is unpleasant, however, for Hermione Granger. Until, he tells her she's in his top five. [Please read and review] 

**Chapter One ******

**--Number One--**

   It's Saturday morning. I know, because, last night before I drifted off the instant realisation that I wasn't working for two days dawned as I settled into a comfortable sleep. However, this morning - this very peaceful and pleasant Saturday morning - I am less than comfortable. The blanket, which I have owned for far too long, is tucked safely under my feet, as well as the small of my back. I am now in the very unpleasant situation of wanting to move but not being able to. Again, realisation dawns. This extremely unpleasant situation occurs (in my opinion) only twice: when, the night before, you've gotten far too drunk to pronounce your own name.  And in the current unpleasant situation you are in, you cannot move, because you are still a little drunk. And when, the night before, you've exchanged fluids with someone of the same or opposite sex. And, again, in the current unpleasant situation you are in, you cannot move because the other presence in your bed is refusing to. Or, perhaps, judging from the loud, manly groan from beside me I'm guessing its a little of both.

   Oh dear. So, I've done two things I don't normally do in the same night. I don't remember leaving the house ... Oh God. I ... I ... Did I order a mail-order male? No. No. I couldn't have. Then, a male prostitute? No. No. I'm absolutely broke, I can't even afford sausages, let alone ... _his_. So, back to the matter at hand. No mail-order male. No male prostitute. Then ... a friend. A male friend. I don't have many of those ... four, if you count the one that lives in Texas. But he didn't just happen to drop by with condoms and alcohol. Did he? 

   I slowly sit up in bed and survey the room. Nope. No cowboy hat. It isn't him. 

   Then who the hell is it? I'm too bloody chicken to look. Well, I am down to three possibilities. Harry, who lives in Surrey ... with his girlfriend, Sherry. So, then we move to Canterbury. Ron ... What the bloody hell is wrong with Ron? Oh right. He's gone to Paris to "find himself." Find himself a gorgeous Frech slut is more like it. Hmph. One more possibility. He's not exactly a friend, but I know him. Quite well. He's what you count as a dinner-party friend. You wouldn't talk to them elsewhere, however. But ... on the occasion of my incredibe drunkness. It could happen. And the name. You could picture him smirking as soon as it leaves your lips. Draco Malfoy ... is lying in my bed, awake and smiling at me.  

   Oh Dear Lord. 

   "Hello," he says. 

   "Did we have sex?" 

   Oh yes. Just come right out and say it, Hermione. Excellent job. 

   "No." 

   Praise the Lord ... and cheap shoes. 

   We must have just fallen asleep in the same bed. Never, have I gone for secret option number three and now it's the reason I was terrified. One day, I will look at this and laugh. 

   "We had sexual intercourse." 

   One day ... 

   "Did we use a condom?" It's the first time I've come right out and said something. I feel very proud - although, slightly sick. 

   "No." 

   Oh, bloodybuggerfuckingbollocksshittingballs. 

   "We used a Trojan." He then began to recite a Trojan commercial. "Imported." 

   I'm beginning to regret not killing him sooner. 

   "I hate you," I say, as I climb out of bed. I begin to search for my pajama bottoms, because that's right -- I'm not wearing any. "And if I do get pregnant, I don't care if it's male or female, I'm calling it Draco. Just to spite you." 

   "So, if you get pregnant and you have a girl -- you're calling it Draco. Now, Hermione, you're inflicting at least thirty years of therapy on our child already. Don't you think you're overreacting?" 

   I explode at nine o'clock in the morning. Really. It's a record for me. "We don't have a child! I'm not pregnant! You are incredibly annoying! And I am not overreacting!" I stomp out of my room. 

   What did I ever see in him? He's not sleep-with material. He's dart-board material. Huh, that's an idea. I must write that down. 

   "Hermione?" 

   "Shut up." 

   "I just said your name." 

   "Well, I don't like it when you say my name." 

   "Well, then, what should I call you?" 

   I shrug. 

   "How about ... 'I'm sorry.'"

   I say nothing. 

   "How about ... 'I should go to hell and burn forever for being such a complete and utter dick.'" 

   I smile. "That's better." 

   "Okay. So, we'll leave it at we'll never have sex again, right?" 

   "Right ... wait -- why?" 

   "Well, because the next thing I suspected you of doing was to ring the condom company and ask the average percentage of how often they work. Ninety-seven, by the way --," 

   "Is that it?" 

   "Hermione." 

   "Sorry," I say sheepishly. 

   "And because of how much you overreacted," Draco adds. 

   "I was surprised and shocked and ... Draco, how was I?" 

   He pauses, smiling slightly at, I suppose, the memory. "Don't you remember? Oh, yeah, that's right. Eight vodka cruisers under forty-five minutes, that's a record for you, Miss Granger." 

   "Draco ..." He's making me impatient. 

   "Did you know you slur when you moan?" 

   I slap him, unconciously covering my face with my hands. "Shut up and tell me." 

   "You were OK." 

   "OK? Just OK? Just two letters - the O and the K? The most stupidest letters in the entire alphabet?" 

   "You were good." 

   "Good's better ..." I sigh. 

   "How about you rank in top five and we'll leave it at that, OK?" 

   Top five. That's good. That's very good. I can't stop smiling. 

   "Goodbye, Granger," he says, collecting pants he'd deposited on a bar stool the night earlier. 

   "Bye," I say, airily. 

   The door slams. That brings me out of my trance. 

   I slept with Malfoy. Ferret Boy. The Resident Annoyance of This Society. 

   Well, that makes for a nice long chat with Ginny. 

**Updating 'Study Buddies' is in process, so don't throw things. PLEASE. **

**Now, I know this is all very cliched and over-done and absolutely never going to happen, but I hope your love for giving me so many wonderful reviews will save this story. Yes, and my sense of humour that makes you all give me the 'ha ha ha's' at the beginning of your reviews. Now. This is an AU, because everyone lives in the Muggle world. They all know that they know each other from Hogwarts, but really talk or use magic. AND they just work in normal Muggle jobs. Bare with me and give enjoying my stories. Now, review! Now. I'm ordering you. **

**He he ... I know ... I know ... **

**--barbieQUE-- **


	2. The Very Vicious Number Two

--**Short memories, look here**--  
  
Disclaimer: Er ... no own-ee of Harry Potter ... Er ... Ee.   
  
Title: The Unpleasantries of Life  
  
Rating: R - 'cause it just has that R feel. (That made somebody laugh ... Te he!)  
  
Chapter Two:  
  
The Very Vicious Number Two   
  
I'm late. And not in the work sense. Well, actually I am late in the work sense. Very late. An hour late. This, to me, is call-in-to-work-and-say-you're-sick late. Because I do feel sick. I think Draco has impregnated me with his spawn. In other words, I believe I'm pregnant.  
  
I jinxed it. I must have, saying that you're not pregnant inevitably means that you are. I may just have to call the kid Draco. In spite, of course.  
  
God. What if I am pregnant, I have a girl and being the spiteful person that I am bestow the name Draco upon her. I can see it now, news bulletin: "Former book-worm gets knocked up by Death Eater's son ... Baby girl born today under the name, Draco Hermione Malfoy-Granger ... Ha, hate to be that kid ... and in other news, Weasley invents something smart."  
  
Oh God. Oh God. That's what it is. I've been knocked up by a Death Eater's son. By Draco. I hate him. And Trojan.  
  
But I don't know for sure. I should make sure. Pregnancy test. But I'll make Son of Devil get it. That'll be a laugh.  
  
I pick up the phone. I need to make two calls. One to office telling them I am sick (cough, cough) and one to S.O.D. telling him I am sick and possibly pregnant. Right. To the office.  
  
Ring. Ring. This is possibly the most boring sound ever. Ring. Ring. "Hello?"  
  
Cough. "Hello, it's Hermione ..." Cough. " ... Granger. I'm ..." Cough. " ... wondering if I can speak to ..." Cough. " ... Mr. Ratwood?"  
  
"Oh, Hermione, is that you? Are you sick?" Amanda, the receptionist. She's blonder than Blondie.   
  
"No, I just cough occassionally for no real reason. Mostly to get the flem from the back of my throat to come spewing out of my mouth."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing." Cough.  
  
"Hold on, I'll get Mr. Ratwood ... and Hermione?"  
  
"Yes?" Cough.  
  
"Spewing out your problems isn't always the answer. Trust me."  
  
"I'll ..." Cough. " ... take note." Cough.  
  
I think that performance deserves an Oscar. Or two. "Hermione, what is it? I'm very busy."  
  
"Mr ..." Cough. " ... Ratwood. I can't ..." Cough. " ... come into work ..." Cough. " ... today." Cough.  
  
"Well, I figured as much as you are an hour late."  
  
"Yes ..." Cough. "Sorry about that." Cough.  
  
"Goodbye Hermione."  
  
"Good ..." He hung up. Bastard.  
  
Right. Now, onto S.O.D. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Pick up the good damn phone. Pick up the good damn phone. Such a wonderful song this is. "Hello, Draco speaking."  
  
What a ponce. "Oh, hello, this is Betty Potts of Potts and Knobs."  
  
"Hermione?" He sounds surprised.  
  
"Draco?" I sound equally as surprised. Such a wonderful actress.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asks.  
  
"What are you doing?" I reply.  
  
"Picking up my phone and answering it." Smart arse.  
  
"Well, don't," I say.  
  
"Hermione?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Who's Betty Potts?"  
  
"I made her up," I reply. God, I think this just well be the longest conversation ever ... For me anyway.  
  
"Very creative." Long pause. "What do you want?"  
  
"I think I might be pregnant." Well, that's very nice. I'm sure he'll appreciate that on a Monday morning. Doesn't he have a job?   
  
Choking sound from other end of phone. Well, that's also very nice. "Actually," I add for effect, "I know I am pregnant." More choking sounds. He sounds like he's having something or other. A fancy-smancy doctor term or something. Well, that's also very, very nice.  
  
"Draco?"  
  
Wheeze. "What?"  
  
"I'm kidding."  
  
Subsided wheezes. "About which part?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Which part? First or second?"  
  
"Er ... second."  
  
"Shit."  
  
"First is better."  
  
"I know, but geez, Hermione."  
  
"Get me a pregnancy test."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Go down to the pharmacists and get me a pregnancy test. Look, if you do this and I'm pregnant you don't have to be in the baby's life, okay?"  
  
"But, Hermione, I'd like to be in the baby's life."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Sweet moment.  
  
"Get me a pregnancy test."  
  
"Fine."  
  
He he. Sucker.  
  
[Not particularly long but the kind of cliffhanger thing I have going is sure to get you guys saying, "Nooooo!" And then you'll say it some more and then you'll go, "Hey, great chapter." Right. So, go do that. Goodbye--  
  
barbieQUE] 


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